


The Hazards of Domesticity

by Prismabird



Category: The Nice Guys (2016)
Genre: Alcoholism aftermath, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Good lord I write a lot of dialogue..., Holland is human chaos, M/M, Mood Whiplash, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Puberty talk at the kitchen table which is so against Holland's rules, kitchen mishaps, petty teen arguments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 20:25:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7283452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prismabird/pseuds/Prismabird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breakfast at the March/Healy residence. This is why we can't have nice things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hazards of Domesticity

**Author's Note:**

> So, I originally had intentions for a much longer fic, but as it completely refused to manifest in my mind in any meaningful way, I took the one scene that I thought kinda worked and retooled it into a little ficlett. Then I read some of the spectacular works getting posted over the last few days, and almost set it aside in humble shame, but you know, in a fandom as little as this one, it's better to just put it out there. 
> 
> I also had planned to finally write a Nice Guy's fic in which the character's alcoholism didn't factor, but somehow I don't think that's ever going to happen.

“Good morning, Jackson. Hey, Warden.”

It was Saturday morning and Holly walked into the kitchen in her pajamas, a deliberately ornery frown on her face. At the stove, Holland flipped sizzling bacon and eggs while Jackson sat at the table, struggling to read the sports page over his half eaten bowl of Cream of Wheat. Squinting at the tiny print, he finally gave up and took off his glasses, making a mental note to call for an eye appointment. “Hey kid,” he said to Holly. 

She straight-lined it for the pantry, stopping just long enough to shoot a hesitant, discreet middle finger at her father’s back before returning to her quest for Lucky Charms. For 0.2 seconds Jackson considered saying something to her about it, but the kitchen had developed a decidedly hostile air, and if World War Three really was about to break out, he wanted as little attention focused his way possible.

“Good morning, prisoner 0625,” Holland said without turning around. “How is cellblock D today?”

“You’re so unfair,” Holly mumbled. She poured the milk into her cereal and began to eat standing up at the counter, leaving the carton sitting out and open. 

“Put the milk away, you know Jackson gets palpitations when you leave it out.” 

“If it bothers _Mr. Healy,_ then he can put it away himself.” 

“Hey!” Jackson interjected, spoon halfway to his mouth. “What did I do?”

Holly stuck out her chin at him. “If you’re just going to take his side, then stay out of it.”

“Enough with the attitude, Holly,” Holland said, proud of himself for keeping an even tone when he most definitely was not feeling it. “You break the rules, you get grounded, that’s how it goes.”

“ _I didn’t break the rules!”_

“You’re right. I actually went to see your principal because she invited me for a tea party, it was lovely. We didn't talk at all about you making out with some boy in the school hallway.”

“We weren’t making out, it was just kissing! And Patrick isn’t ‘some boy,’ he’s my boyfriend.”

Holland groaned and leaned his head against the upper cabinets. “Okay, see, now that’s about a thousand times worse. Who said you could have a boyfriend?” 

“Mom.”

Even from just the line of his back, Holland was sure they could both see him wince. “You can’t go playing that card every time I try to set a limit.”

“It’s not my fault you don’t remember!” Holly threw her spoon into her cereal bowl, splashing milk over the countertop. “You were sitting right there. Mom said I could start dating after I turned fourteen as long as I stayed in a group and wasn’t alone with the boy. We had a family talk about it! You agreed!”

“That doesn’t sound like something I’d agree to. When was this again?”

“When I was eleven, _god,_ dad! It was the same talk where Mom said I could start wearing make-up after I got my period-”

“Jesus CHRIST, Holly!” 

“ -and I still had to fight you for weeks before you let me! Just because you were too out of it to pay attention!” 

“No puberty talk at the table!”

  Eyes still focused on his bacon and eggs, Holland didn’t see the smug look on Holly’s face, but there was no mistaking it in her voice. “We’re not at the table, we’re at the counter.”

“Jackson’s at the table. No puberty talk in front of Jackson.”

“Don’t bring me into this,” Jackson said.

“Oh, get over it dad, it’s not like he doesn’t know or whatever. I told him I got it before I even told you.”

This finally succeeded in getting Holland to turn around and look at her. “Really?” he asked, holding his spatula up like a defensive weapon, grease dripping down onto his fingers. Jackson was surprised by the hurt on his face. “How come?”

 _“He_ wasn’t passed out on a pool chair in a puddle of his drool.”

Holland shifted his weight, looked to Jackson for help, but Jackson had suddenly become very interested in a squirrel out the back window. Holland made a face at him. Fucking Judas.

Holly sensed that she had drawn blood, and went in for the kill. “So why’s it that I’m not old enough to date, but I was old enough to drive you around when I was twelve?”

“Hey -”

“But I guess it doesn’t count if it lets you get _wasted,_ right?”

“You know I’m not doing that right now,” Holland defended himself. “You _know_ I’ve quit for the month!”

“Whatever, _lush,”_ Holly snapped, and Jackson decided that was enough. 

“Holly!” he barked, just as the stove erupted in flames.

Holland whirled at the _“fwoom,”_ and the rush of heat behind him, just in time to see the fire leap three feet up from the burner and into the vent hood. He took a startled breath and then - nothing. Nothing. He couldn’t move. _Get out,_ his brain told him, _Get Holly out of here, get Jackson out of here,_ but his feet were strangers to him. Even as he felt the whoosh of heat singe the tip of his nose, he could not move. And then there were strong arms cinching him around the middle, knocking the breath from him, dragging him backwards against a warm, solid body. And Jackson, suddenly between him and the fire, a can of baking soda in his hand.

“Holland! Holland, look at me!” Was it over? His vision swam, but he eventually registered Jackson in front of him, shouting in his face, his words punctuated by the shrill scream of the fire alarm.

What? “What!?” Holland shouted back in Jackson’s face. Jackson held his hands up in surrender and took a step backwards. Behind him, the stove smoked and sizzled with black bacon, but the fire was out. “I’m fine!” Holland said, a little too loudly. He tried again, “I’m fine, I’m okay, are you okay? Holly, are you okay?”

Holly responded with a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, of course,” she said, breathing a little too fast. She swallowed and added, “It was just a grease fire. I’m okay.”

“You need to sit down,” Jackson said, taking Holland by the arm and leading him over to the table. Holland wanted to protest, but his legs felt like he was in an earthquake and his stomach felt like it was about to fall out of his asshole, so sitting down was probably a good idea. 

“Jesus Christ,” Holland mumbled. He wished his voice didn’t sound so shaky. “Jesus Christ.”

“Dad, one of your pupils is bigger than the other!”

“I’m fine!” he shouted. 

“I know!” Holly shouted back.

“Okay, okay. First thing, can everyone take a deep breath and calm down?” Jackson said, taking Holly by the shoulders and guiding her down into the chair next to her father. 

“Could you shut that noise off now?” Holland asked, gesturing up at the smoke alarm. Jackson nodded, grabbed his own chair and dragged it over to the alarm, where he made quick work of the batteries. 

“There,” Jackson said, plunking the batteries on the table. Holland twitched slightly at their ‘clack’ against the wooden table top and Jackson held in a grimace. This was not good. “Everyone all right?”

“Yeah,” Holly said. 

“Mm-hmm,” Holland said. 

Jackson knelt beside Holly, ignoring the pop in his knee. “Holly, you okay?” 

“Yeah,” she said again, and this time she really did seem to be calming down. “Yeah, I’m all right.” 

“Can you give me a minute with your dad?”

She did without argument, a testament to just how shook up she really was. Jackson told himself he’d check on her in a few minutes. For now, he pulled her vacant chair almost flush with Holland’s and sat, arcing his body forward enough to make sure he was well within Holland’s frame of vision, and put an arm around his shoulders. “Take a deep breath,” he said, “Everyone’s okay.”

“I know,” Holland said. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then ran his palm across his face. “Yeah. That’s just...that just flipped the fucking switch, man, you know?”

“I know.”

“That’s an adrenalin rush that’s going to last the weekend.” He wasn’t kidding. At times, Jackson was astounded by Holland’s resilience, physical and otherwise, but he’d been partnered with him long enough to know that it didn’t come easy. A good scare, a really good jolt that got right under Holland’s skin and hit him straight where it counted wasn’t going away in a hurry. For a couple of days at least, he could expect Holland to leap at shadows, at familiar faces, at nothing at all. He could expect pacing and tight muscles and uneaten food. For certain, he could expect stretches of sleepless nights broken up here and there with uneasy, nightmares. All for a little spilled grease. 

“Come here,” Jackson said, kissing Holland at the corner of his eye, and Holland let himself sink against Jackson, his ear pressed against Jackson’s chest so that the sound of his breathing was huge, like hearing the ocean. Closing his eyes, he tried to drown in it. “You’re gonna get through it, you’ve gotten through it before.”

Holland’s answer came a few beats late. “I’ve never gotten through it without a little sedation. What if I need..?” he trailed off. 

“No. You aren’t going to start again. If you were, you wouldn’t have brought it up.” 

“You sound arrogantly confident. Just how many times have you quit, anyway?”

“Which do you mean, the kind of quitting that counts, or all of the times I thought I had it beat with twenty four hours of sobriety?”

“The real kind. Like, a month or more.”

Jackson sighed. “Oh, I dunno. Probably somewhere around eight or nine?

“Really. Huh. You want to know in what way that really _doesn’t_ inspire trust in your system?”

“It’s not like I haven’t learned from my mistakes,” Jackson said. “Besides which, I’ve got someone to succeed for this time.” He paused, coughed slightly, just realizing how sappy that sounded. 

Holland, to his credit, didn’t comment on it. “I’m starting to get a cramp,” he said, sitting up. “And I can hear your oatmeal digesting, and it’s disgusting.” 

“Cream of Wheat,” Jackson said. 

“Flavorless gruel, whatever.” Holland patted his sides as if looking for a cigarette before remembering that he was in his pajamas. He let his arms fall limp and breathed out in acceptance. “I think I’m all right.”

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. I better go check on Holly and make sure we’re okay.” He shook his head. “That kid,” he added, but the affection in his eyes was clear. “Was she serious about - did she really tell you about, you know?” Holland waved his hand about in the air, apparently a gesture that was meant to indicate menstruation.

Jackson barked a laugh and went slightly red. “Oh god, she did. I love her to pieces, Holland, but that had to be one of the most awkward moments of my life.”

“She didn’t make you take her to buy, uh, lady stuff, did she?” Holland asked, and there was a look of such comical concern on his face that Jackson felt all of the tension that had built up in his stomach over the last few minutes escape him in a snorted laugh, then another, until he found he couldn’t stop. 

“No, she -” he dissolved into giggles, trying to pull enough air in to start again. “She - she asks me if we could-” 

Holland raised an eyebrow and leaned forward expectantly. “Could what?”

“Go for ice cream!”

Holland stared at him, head slightly tilted in confusion. “You’re fucking kidding me. Why... what did you say?”

Jackson started to double over with his arms wrapped around his stomach, and Holland wondered if _he_ should be the one encouraging _Jackson_ to breath. “I - I didn’t say anything,” he wheezed. “I took her to Dairy Queen.”

And that was when Holland lost it right along with him. 

A minute later, when Holland had finally caught his breath again and pulled himself back up from Jackson’s shoulder, and Jackson was able to look at him without cracking up, Holland said, “Oh god. I am so, so sorry I missed that. Next time something that hysterically awkward happens to you, promise you’ll throw some cold water on me and wake me up for it?” Still snickering a little, he stood on shaky legs. “I’ll go make sure she’s okay with everything,” he said, nodding in the general direction of the stove. “She’s better at putting on a brave face than I am, you know?”

“She’s tough,” Jackson agreed, as Holland went off to be a dad. A moment later, once Jackson was sure that Holland was out of earshot, he added, “It’s genetics.”


End file.
